You Can't Have One Without the Other
by guitargirlct
Summary: EDITEDEDITEDEDITED-Previously 'There's A Heart In My Window.' Pasting issues. Anywho. Johnlock with kids! Only with kids and pain... When a murder occurs outside a very happy 221b family, will it be the murderer wants something more than attention? Like... Revenge? And he's both a serial killer and a kidnapper? Chapter updates often. Sorry for any delays!


Sherlock glanced at John, who sat next to him in the cab. He couldn't help but ponder how perfect their life was. They had two boys (eleven and nine), they worked together (albeit on life-risking stuff), and everyone they cared about was safe. That was much more than the consulting detective had dared hoped for on their wedding day, and it gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest he didn't recognize. But it was a good feeling, so he let it stay. He returned his gaze to the rainy day outside.

John glanced at Sherlock, wondering how a man could look so good and be his husband. His. His children's second father. They'd built a wonderful life together. Their kids, William and Eric, were both already fine, smart boys. It absolutely couldn't get better. Well, if Sherlock would stop insisting that the boys did not need punishments as much as they did-that would be nice.

The two men glanced forward as the cab stopped in front of their home. 221B, Baker Street.

John prayed Ms. Hudson had watched the boys. Really watched them. William could be a handful if he got near the biscuits, and Eric was hyper anyway. Last time.. Well, Sherlock had almost needed a new skull.

Sherlock stepped out of the car, straightening his coat and readjusting his scarf. Six feet of pure genius smiled at John in his v-like way, opening the door for him. He smiled back.

"I hope the flat's still intact."

"Of course it is. The boys cannot break walls or couches easily."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he walked up the familiar steps and into their home...

Better described as a war zone. John was pretty sure he'd seen better in Afghanistan.

Crumbs coated the carpet. The empty cookie jar lay on the floor, just out of the kitchen. Blankets were heaped in a pile near the center of the mess, much like the eye of the storm. Sherlock's violin lay on the ground, a few feet away from the stand he'd taken to keeping it on.

The blankets moved suddenly, one dark-haired boy popping out. His curls were a mess, his eyes wide. A blonde boy sat up too, his shorter hair ruffled. His mouth made a little 'o'. It was obvious he knew he was in trouble for this.

Sherlock's head curled around the door, eyes narrowing and widening.

"Who touched my violin?"

The blonde gulped, biting his lip.

"William Mycroft Holmes, you bloody rascal." John murmured.

"I didn't say I did it!"

"You are in the center of a pile of blankets wrapped around you. That is more than enough to know you did most of the.. wreckage. Now, for the violin, it is on a 4'6 stand. Eric is exactly 4'5. He could reach, but not lift. You are 5'2. You would easily pick the violin up, pluck at it, then set it down for later use. Eric fiddled with it as well. And finally, the biscuit jar is on the top shelf. You dragged the stool over-I see the scratch marks-, stood on it, picked up the jar, and snuck down. You dropped it on the carpet, which kept it from shattering and making much noise. Good. Then, you gathered the fallen treats back in and ate them, between you and Eric."

The boy was unable to keep a smile off his face now. He loved it when Sherlock deduced something for him.

John, however, was not in awe. "Okay, now clean it up."

"But daddy-"

"No buts." Eric scowled, crossing his arms. William huffed, standing.

John glanced at Sherlock with a whisper.

"Eric really is your son."

-JOHNLOCKJOHNLOCKJOHNLOCK-

Ms. Hudson shook her head yet again. "I'm sorry, boys, I just took a nap and.."

"It's no issue." John smiled pleasantly.

"My violin still needs tuning." Sherlock said at the same time.

"Ah.. It's alright, though." He corrected, after a glare from his husband.

The woman blushed, standing.

She made her way out of the flat.

As she left, two pairs of small feet could be heard scuffling on the stair. John stood while Sherlock made coffee. Black, with two sugars for himself, and tea with a bit of cream and cinnamon for John. He pulled leftover eggs and bacon from the fridge and set those to warm. Meanwhile, John sat Will on a chair, kneeling in front of him.

"Now, Will, you know you're grounded from yesterday?"

"Yeah."

Sherlock strode into the room silently, Eric trailing behind him.

"Alright. No going to crime scenes for one month."

"That is not fair!" Sherlock said, looking disgruntled. Eric peered around his legs, while his elder brother pushed back a grin. He loved going to crime scenes. There was no way his father would let him be grounded from them. John, however, had something to say about that.

"Then what is fair? Not letting him have another biscuit?"

"Well, grounding him from crime scenes certainly isn't."

"Then pick something that is."

"Hm." As Sherlock considered this for a moment, the gunshots sounded below.

-Author's Note-

It doesn't end here! Sorry for the shortness, and if it's going too fast. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISM-Always welcome!


End file.
